


Clockwork

by popotami



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars: Episode VIII
Genre: Emetophobia, Established Relationship, Finn-centric, Finnpoe - Freeform, Force-Sensitive Finn, Little bit of Fluff, Little bit of angst, M/M, One Shot, Post TFA, Stormpilot, Trans Male Character, rehab finn, the last jedi dont exist, trans Finn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13522653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popotami/pseuds/popotami
Summary: It felt nice, was all. Being able to touch his hair, to know it's there. To be able to exist without fear of having someone breathing down his neck. To feel the texture of his own hair between his fingers. To know he was safe and star systems away from the First Order. It's hard to believe sometimes. That he's really actually here with people that genuinely care about him.If even for a moment.





	Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> i had my friends beta read it and they honestly were such a huge help into getting this to where it is and i love them, so thank you krisit and vega !! i aint ever gon stop loving u kristi (thehorrorinsymmetry) and vega (islandpuffs) !!!!
> 
> it was also loosely based around a drawing i did a while back of [rehab/training finn](http://sewerapple.tumblr.com/post/169132659908/i-was-robbed-of-rehabilitation-scenes-dont-tag-as)?  
> he was training and getting his mojo back and stuff except he has much much more hair now so um yea! this was an impulse fic, so im more or less excited to have just whipped it out and gotten words down onto the page lmfao

Another month, another week, and another day... _without a haircut_ . Finn fidgets, fingers twirling coarse spirals around and around. It may have been a nervous habit, but he hadn't bothered to think too hard about it. He hadn't been able to do this before- to grab at his hair like this. _I have hair_ , he thinks. _That’s stupid_. _I’ve always had hair_. But, now he could pull it-! He could do whatever he wanted to do to it.

Admittedly, he's a little overwhelmed. It had always been stuck onto his scalp, short and edged up. “Neat” and “orderly”, a short buzz to easily be tamed. FN-2187 would never be able to fit his new hair under his helmet. But, Finn. Finn doesn't have to worry about that all too much. He'd been caught pulling at it once or twice, deep in thought or maybe just playing with it. It's not like anyone was going to tell him to stop anyways, it was _his_ hair. It belonged to _him_.

After being cooped up for what he would easily describe as forever. Finn had been half tempted to ask if the war was won. But, that couldn't possibly be true... because Rey would be here. _With him_. His finger curls around another clump of kinky hair, tugging on it as a trail of heat slithers over his back. The scar, a raised zig zag that cuts across his spine and up to his left shoulder blade. It serves as a reminder sometimes.

He reaches back to attempt to touch it, just barely grazing the taut skin. It doesn't feel like him. It feels inorganic under his fingers. He knows what lies underneath: bits of bio-metal interwoven into his spinal cord to repair it. Finn winces, dragging all but two over the wound and tracing what he could before pulling away.

He'd told Poe he was a cyborg once, boasting about his newfound autonomy. They both thought it was funny.

 Finn’s looking at himself in the mirror for the _third_ time in his life. The first time he doesn’t remember; he was much smaller. He was on the Resistance base the second time. The gym has a long span of them, lining the walls and wrapping around the room. He’d ran his hands all over his face: feeling his nose, his cheeks, his lips, the way his ears jut out at the top. It feels good to be a person. Truth be told, he just likes being able to see himself without the helmet. Knowing that there's a friendly face under there, after all. He twists a fonder strand into a little loc.

Curl one.

Curl two.

It was like clockwork, a system of habit. It felt nice, was all. Being able to touch his hair, to know it's there. To be able to exist without fear of having someone breathing down his neck. To feel the texture of his own hair between his fingers. To know he was safe and star systems away from the First Order. It's hard to believe sometimes. That he's really actually here with people that genuinely care about him. If even for a moment.

Twirl here.

Twist there.

And even if it’s **not** true and it's just some cruel sick _joke_ the universe is playing on him, Finn can at least keep telling himself otherwise. He doubts it from time to time, but he doesn't like to talk about it. While he was bedridden, that was all he could do really. Well, there was _that_ or be entertained by Poe.

Tug.

Pull.

Even before Finn was fully coherent, he would hear footsteps followed by a string of loquacious “beeps” and “boops” that he still couldn't understand. Poe would pull up a chair and talk to him, even when Finn couldn’t answer back. Poe didn't know, but Finn knew he was there. He'd heard him. He'd _felt_ him. Some days Poe would feel particularly bold and sit on the edge of the bed with him, but not _too_ close. BB would practically crush his toes to try and speak over Poe about their day. As if the little droid had something more important to get off its metaphorical chest.

Another there.

He still remembers when Poe charged in to show him his jacket, all stapled up and good as new! He didn't know how to sew, but it's okay. Finn didn't blame him for being resourceful; it’s not like he could do any better. It was actually quite smart. The metal held the leather together well... and aesthetically speaking, it just looked cool.

Poe had introduced him to Rose and Paige Tico. Paige, a bomber and pilot. A great one, as she'd described so eloquently. Rose, a mechanic. Naturally, they were sisters. Rose wouldn’t stop going on and on about how she looked up to Finn. How moved she was by his story. How _brave_ he was, how _strong_ he was, how _selfless_ and **_good_ ** he was. He was flattered, even through all the anesthetics. They both had brought him gifts and set them on the nightstand for him to open when he got his strength back. He got a gag gift too, from Snap. It was a bag of sand... from Jakku. Poe must've told him about it. The sand. He hates it. 

And Poe, going directly against Dr. Kolonia's orders, would make Finn laugh until it hurt. He would tell ridiculous stories about the antics Jess, Snap, and himself got into. Or show him holos of Rey, wishing him a quick and speedy recovery, from the island. She would always seem so _happy_... to be finally training with Luke Skywalker- training to be a Jedi. It was all so very exciting. She just couldn't wait to show him everything she's learned. Finn misses her a lot. He wishes he could hug her.

 _Rey_.

Finn leaves the loc alone and scratches at the back of his neck. Pepper-balls getting caught between his fingertips. There’s an aching in his chest, he takes a deep breath. It’s a longing feeling, a _guilt-ridden_ one. He would dismiss it as heartburn.

“She misses you”, Poe had said. “Green _this_ and green _that_ , green **everything**. And not a sand dune in sight. Crazy, isn't it?”

To which Finn would laugh and punch Poe’s arm, hand lingering on his bicep in apology before finally pulling away. Poe would pretend to be wounded, a hand placed on his chest in offense. It was an excuse to touch him more than anything else, if only for the moment. He wasn’t slick. Poe knew it too; he didn’t fight it.

Sometimes just his presence was enough, Poe didn’t have to ramble on like he had. He didn’t have to try so hard to fill in the gaps. Finn could enjoy the silence too, the space Poe took up. His breathing, his energy. He could see it now, lines creasing around Poe’s eyes when he smiles. Absently, he reaches a single hand up to touch at his own chest, just below his collarbone. His nails skim the soft skin there, blunt tips tracing a tiny circle.

There's a little spark in his veins.

_Poe's warm._

The feeling surrounds him like the _Force_ itself. He rubs the spot like its sore, but it doesn’t ache. It just feels right to touch it. Feels like he has to. The spark isn’t hot enough to burn. Though, sometimes he wishes that it _did_.

Sometimes, Poe would stay a little longer. Finn didn't mind. Just long enough for them to fall asleep together, words slurring into a unintelligible dribble after they'd both fought so hard to stay awake. To which Poe would then slump over, his own hand locked with Finn's. He’d wake up to an empty palm and no Poe. Just a Poe-shaped butt-print in the bed from where he sat. Finn understood. Poe was busy; he's the commander.

They'd spoken, anyways. About them, about their relationship. Poe didn't want to just bombard him as soon as he was up and walking around; he had to fill him in on what happened while he was out. He would ask if Finn was feeling okay, if there was anything he could do to help. It was Finn himself who'd done most of the talking. It wasn't much of a secret though. The whole base had already figured it out. He couldn't wait to tell Rey everything.

He lets his hand falter, fingers curling in on themselves. It falls to his side and he sighs, breath leaving his nose.

He picks the staff up from the wall. His bare feet hitting the rubber mat as he strides forward. Finn keeps his form straight, swinging the weapon and slicing through the air. Time and time again, before changing directions.

The scar tissue stretches a little too fast, new skin rippling. It's incredibly uncomfortable: it's a reminder.

 _Watch it, big deal._ It says, sounding eerily like Han Solo.

He shouldn't be pushing himself like this. The Bacta suit did all it could do and it was a damn good try, but it wasn't a miracle worker. The rest of it is up to him. If he would just listen to what Kolonia had told him. She'd given him the green light to exercise, just nothing too physically strenuous. It was driving him crazy to be kept up in that _impossibly_ bright, white iridescent room for months upon months at a time. He hated the way the covers wrapped around his feet, tangling them up and making him feel trapped. Like he was going to be stuck there forever. Though it did take some getting used to, once he was finally allowed to roam around the ship. He loved the freedom, but he wasn't used to it. He could just go wherever he wanted, no one to tell him how to walk and how fast he should be getting there. It was a little frightening.

Half of a grunt leaves his lips, as the wave of pain hits him. It’s dull, rolling over and over itself. Finn stands there with a staff in hand and panting.

Sweat hangs off of his cupid's bow and runs down to his chin. The scar tells him not to push himself too far. It still hurts. It's sore but not enough to complain about it. Finn would stop when it became to be too much of a burden anyways. He knew better than to get holed back up in the med unit for being cocky.

 _The scar_. His face sours. He thinks of _him_. Kylo Ren. He should’ve burned up in Starkiller’s core. He wants to hurt him. **Kill** him. His jaw works silently. Han killed Zeroes, Slip got shot. They were assholes, but he'd led them in his unit. He was in charge of them- responsible for them. He’d trained with them. Slept in the same bunks with them. It was their first mission. They didn't know what they were in for; they didn't even know what they were fighting for. Just pawns in some big scheme, all of them. He hates that he's even thinking about them- they're dead. They're not even in the First Order anymore- they're just... gone. They died as they lived, kidnapped and brainwashed.

_What makes me so special?_

They're someone's babies _too_. Stolen before they even had a life to claim as their own.

 _Maybe if I'd just had more time,_ he thinks.

 _To tell them how wrong this all was_.

Finn had killed one of them himself. Blue lightsaber phasing into their sternum, through and through. It _crackled,_ he remembers. It was so clean. It was so effortless, taking someone's life like that. He'd lost every other fight he'd gotten into that day, but that _one_ life he did claim. Finn didn't hate it; he didn't love it either. It'd just felt so good to be on the other side of the mask for once. He just wanted to get away from all this chaos, all this war. _Fighting_. It's so tiring. He just wanted to help, to do the right thing. _To make a difference._

Some people had called him lucky to have defected. He didn't feel like it. Finn doesn't know his mother- his father. He doesn't have the faintest clue of what their faces looked like while he was being ripped away. He doesn't know what _exactly_ compelled him to take off his helmet that day either, maybe it was the heat... or the nausea. The panic attack, probably. The shock from Slip's lifeless, bleeding body. The villagers... **slaughtered**. His stomach flips and he whimpers. At first, Finn doesn't think he's capable of such a sound.

All he knows is that he's grateful to have a choice for once. He's grateful to have a place to call home and a misfit family of sorts who love him _dearly_.

General Organa had called him brave, she still does. And Poe-? Poe wouldn't shut up about "Finn the Hero". He'd yet to meet such a man. He didn’t feel like one… well, that’s not true. _Sometimes,_ he did. Like, when he’d rescued Poe. Or flown the Falcon with Rey. Or boldly stood up to Kylo Ren, albeit _foolishly_ , before being lashed into the snow. The heat on his back returns and it's **taunting** him.

He smells the burning leather.

He feels the lightsaber burning into his-

Finn strikes the staff down and out in front of him with a yell, before spinning on his heel to swing in the opposite direction. Finn stops and steps out with his other foot. He twirls the staff once before striking low, a knee bent. There was a rhythm. A pattern.

He sniffles. It's almost loud enough to echo, drowning out the slap of his sole against the floor. He drags the back of his hand under his eye hastily, pulling wetness across his face. It makes him sick, acid churning in his empty belly. He wants to break the staff in half. Finn whimpers again; it's a _pathetic_ sound. His next step takes him to the mat, a knee hitting the floor. Tears pitter patter in front of his feet as he crouches. He hasn't been able to cry for a while now. He _could_ , he just didn’t feel like it. He couldn't when he woke up, Poe's face hovering over his own with a smile too wide for his face. He didn't want to be a _downer;_ it didn’t feel like the right time. And Finn was far too tired now. It’s exhausting.

_He feels warm._

Finn turns to look over his shoulder.

“ Hey,” Poe croaks out through that tiny gap in his teeth.

Finn's heaving. He felt like his chest was pumping out more oxygen than it was taking in. His brows, arched and sharp, set into the scowl on his face. His gaze attempts to burn through even Poe; he's not angry at him though. He just happens to be in the line of fire. Finn's response is delayed. Though whether that was from his guest of the evening or the absence of breath, he couldn't decipher.

He blinks a couple of times, clearing the tears from his eyes. Even with the cloudy vision, he was able to recognize the man behind him.

“ Hey,” He says, anticipating a much better response in his head. His face immediately softens, lips going slack. “ Sorry.”

He swallows. _Shit_.

“ No, no, it's okay! I can come back if it's- _y'know_ \- a bad time, or-? Something? ” Poe stammers, hands waving about in front of him.

He's definitely not in uniform. Or in his flight suit. Or any sort of Resistance _anything_ , for that matter. He's in his pajamas: an olive loose fitting shirt with sweats that are clearly big enough to be comfortable. Finn gives him a once over, before returning back to his face. He looks tired too. Finn stares and doesn't say much of anything; he just listens. Poe’s still talking; he’s rambling. He’s said “sorry” twice now in the same string of sentences, but Finn’s not paying attention.

It’s okay. It’s fine.

He’s thinking about whether Poe can tell if he was crying or not. If he can see his puffy eyes from the doorway, the streak of tears. If he can hear the sniffles. He wants to ask why _Mr. Commander_ is awake at such an ungodly time. There was no BB trailing behind him in a hurry, no nothing. Poe was bare. Finn rises back to his feet, the back of his bra rubbing uncomfortably against his scar. He reaches back to scratch at it, trying to go under the strap. The stretchy fabric simply chafes against his skin, doing the opposite of what he wanted. He winces.

Finn turns around after one last futile attempt to swipe under his eyes. At this point, he figured it didn’t matter anyways. It’s late. He’s not trying to impress anyone. His best bet would be that Poe thinks it’s just sweat. _That's stupid_ , he thinks.

“ It’s fine,” Finn notices his smile is gone, lines around his eyes vanishing. “ What’s up?”

" Did you puke again? You need some water or-"

" _I'm fine_." Finn answers, quick and unwavering. "Really."

Poe gives him a look. He's a notoriously bad liar, always has been. Finn knows he doesn't believe him but doesn't want to push. It's okay.

“ Well, if you think of anything... lemme know, okay? ” Poe murmurs, watching as Finn goes to set the staff against the wall. He scratches the back of his head.

Finn can hear Poe taking steps behind him, soles on rubber. The warmth in his chest comes to a frightening boil, almost like it’s going to spill over. He feels a hand on his back, just above his scar. Worried fingers come to rest before sliding onto Finn’s bicep and pulling him closer. His thumb kneads against Finn's skin, back and forth. Poe’s gaze shifts from Finn to a dent in the wall. He wouldn’t ask about it.

“ I’m sweaty, don’t touch me, ” Finn's half joking.

Poe holds him at his side; he doesn’t seem to mind. His head lolls over just enough to nose at Finn's cheek as he snorts out a laugh. Stubble scratches against Finn's jaw, naturally he leans into it. He doesn’t hate it and doesn’t say anything for a beat; he’s just soaking the warmth up. Finn can’t see Poe’s face scrunching up, but he knows it is. Always when he laughs.

“ I couldn’t sleep.”

“ So, you walked halfway across the ship? ” Poe raises a brow.

The boiling in his chest comes to a simmer. Finn gives Poe a passive "mhm". He's trying, he really is. _Bless him_ . He could still feel the wetness under his eyes, so he knows full well Poe could see it. Finn doesn't want him to acknowledge it; Poe doesn't. He knows. It's unspoken, but it works. Finn doesn’t want his space, but he doesn’t want to talk about _it_ either. He’s content in the moment. Poe’s still talking though, voice low. The words brush against the side of Finn’s face. He just listens and slumps against Poe’s frame. If Poe doesn't mind the sweat, neither would he.

He thinks about why he’d even gotten out of the bed and “walked halfway across the ship”, as Poe had said. It’s fine though, it’s okay. This was rehabilitation more than anything else; it helps with balance. With posture. Precision. It just feels good to be able to move around… but pretending to slice Kylo Ren down into tiny Sith lord pieces is nice too.

“ **Finn** -? ”

He turns to face him, mouth clammed up like he’d been caught doing something wrong.

“ The staff-? ” Poe repeats himself.

Finn pulls away, arm slipping. Poe releases his grip on him with one last stroke of his thumb.

“ Yeah? ”

“ _You-?_ ” Poe makes a face.

" What about it?" Finn makes a face of his own, top lip curling up.

“ No, nothing- it's just funny. I figured I'd catch you in the shooting range instead of cooped up in here playing with sticks."

Finn snorts. He's rather amused by the sentiment. Poe, however, looks like he'd just punched himself in the face _twice_.

" _Shit,_ **fuck** , sorry, that's not what I meant-" He raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I-"

" -I know what you meant." Finn smiles, bumping a shoulder into Poe's in jest. " No worries."

He isn’t wrong though; he'd been right to assume. Finn's feelings weren't hurt. It was just a pretty tense atmosphere right now, that's all. Finn was _incredibly_ gifted with blasters- top of his class, actually. Poe knew this. He's had a gun placed in his hand since he was able to hold one. It was only natural. He's a good shot and he wouldn't deny it. Finn was exceptional with hand-to-hand combat too. But, sticks? _Sabers?_ That was a whole other thing. Finn waits for a joke about how he’s just missing Rey, but it never comes.

“ ...so, uh... mind if I take this one for a spin...? ” Poe points to another staff in the rack. Finn extends an arm in offering, gesturing to that same rack.

“ Don't hurt yourself.” Finn picks his own staff back up before setting it on his shoulders, arms resting on top. He watches Poe for a moment before starting off in his own little direction.

“ Don’t tempt me. ” He raises a brow, ceasing in his staff twirling efforts.

Finn cackles and it’s loud enough to wake the entire galaxy up. _You loser,_ he smiles _._ It spreads across his whole face, as per usual. He’s feeling better. Poe knows it too.

“ What’dya say, man, you wanna go? ”

Finn hears the question, but it doesn't fully register for a moment. He walks off, getting ready to start another path.

“ What, like _fight-?_ ” Finn laughs again. Loudly. “You’re in your jammies, _Commander_.”

Just a dash of patronization trails after the word: jammies. He’s kidding though. It’s all in good fun. Poe, however, doesn’t want to hear it. He sighs, taking a deep breath through his nose.

“ You can say you’re chicken, it’s okay. I’m not-”

“ _\- what-?_ ” Finn stops in his steps, whipping his head back in disbelief.

Finn’s still smiling; he's not even remotely mad about it. He's halfway into figuring out what _possessed_ Poe to fix his mouth to say "chicken" before he realizes that his boyfriend is talking over him.

“-I’m not gonna judge you!” Poe raises a hand in defense, the other holds the staff at his side. “We can all just go back to bed and act like this never happened.”

 _“Excuse me-?”_ Finn is sputtering through his grin.

“ _Or_... we can settle this like gentlemen.” Poe readies himself, head holding high.

There’s a false bravado in his breath. A rather shoddy accent too. Finn looks around to see if anyone else is hearing this delirious man. But, it’s just the two of them. He’s trying really hard not to smile- failing miserably- but gosh, is he trying. _This is stupid,_ he thinks. _He's so stupid. I love him._

“ You sound like Rey-!” Finn shouts, laughter trailing his outburst.

Poe charges, staff twirling over his head. Finn's seen Poe training before, sparring mostly. Sometimes, he'd come down to blow off steam. He was... impressive, to say the least. _This_ , however, wasn't one of those times. He was just swinging the thing around, like he was trying to swat a giant bug out of the sky. The staff crashes down and about frantically. Finn simply steps out of the way for most of the attacks, others he can easily block. Wood crashes against wood, sound echoing throughout the hallways.

Poe cracks and his stoic expression is no more than a memory. The corners of his eyes crinkle up like crepe paper, he's laughing too. It’s an ugly laugh. Finn hates it. He doesn't, he's kidding. He loves it. He loves him. Theoretically speaking, Finn had already won _twice_. But Poe just kept running at him, ignoring the staff slapping against his skin. He'd gotten him in the gut, on the side- and just when he's about to tag him again, he gets distracted. Finn handicaps himself. He lowers his guard and squints his eyes shut, hand on his belly as he cackles. He attempts to tell Poe to "wait" while he catches his breath, but Poe doesn't listen. That tiny window was all he needed.

He springs forward, dropping his staff. Poe wraps his arms around the back of his thighs. Finn, unable to find the floor, flips his feet about uselessly in the air. His voice cracks when he squeals, undignified and shrill. He doesn’t play it off well. He knows it, Poe does too. The staff falls from his hands and clatters against the floor. Finn gets slung over his back like a sack of potatoes. He kicks and _kicks_ but Poe simply laughs at him. His eyes fly open and he grips at the back of Poe's shirt, clinging onto it like he'll slip and mash his face against the floor. He knows Poe won't drop him though, but it's a scary thought.

" **Poe Dameron**." His voice is deep. It's a threat.

Poe "ooh's". Finn doesn't see his face, but the man holding him probably looks like an idiot. He pulls on the olive fabric, as if tugging against him will make any difference. His staff is too far out of his reach to use, a few feet away and Poe kicks it for good measure. He's making fun of him. Finn's face grows hot and he reaches back to slap the back of his shoulder. He underestimated him just a little bit.

" Not so tough without a big stick, _huh?_ " He chants, "A hollow man."

" Put me down. I'll bite you." Finn spits.

" No, you won't."

He won't.

Poe bucks up once and Finn nearly loses his grip, he squeals again. It's louder and somehow **more** indignant this time. It gets followed up by Finn's own laugh as Poe spins him around, arms securing themselves around his legs. He continues to tease the man hoisted over his shoulder.

They're interrupted by a **horrible** noise: a loud gurgling, guttural sound that dares to shake the entire room. It's familiar though. He's heard it before; they both have. There's no real immediate threat or danger present in the space. The terrible thing catches them off guard more than anything else. Poe's immediate thought is Wookie. Hurriedly, his gaze darts about to locate the pissed alien, they'd probably just woken up with all their hooping and hollering. After failing to find said alien, Poe makes a face and sets Finn down.

The noise announces its presence once more. Finn looks sheepish and balls one of his fists.

It's his stomach.

They stare for a while, before Poe opens his mouth to say anything. Finn reaches up to pull on his own hair again.

Curl one.

" Have you eaten today?" His hands rest on his hips.

" Yea." Finn says, kneading a loc between his fingers.

Curl two.

" When-?" Poe's quick to ask.

Twist here.

Twist there.

" This morning." Finn's even quicker, but it comes out as more of a question instead of a solid answer.

Tug.

Pull.

It's not that he didn't like to eat, sometimes he just forgot. Finn either eats _too_ _much_ or not _enough;_ it came with the pressures of his newfound freedom. His schedule is off; he couldn't help it. He isn’t used to having so much food just readily available to him. As soon as he became adjusted to the new diet, Finn had continuously and thoroughly **stuffed** his face. Everything was so colorful and it all smelled so good, even if it was just cafeteria slop. He would sneak food, save food, and pile his plates up into an impossible tower. But, it was always harder when he’s thinking too much. Harder to remember to do certain things. The episodes came in waves though; he'd have good days and bad, same as anyone else. Today was an off day.

Another there.

Finn had puked a lot at first. Months ago. It wasn't that the med bay food was terrible (it was); it was definitely better than the First Order efficiency slop and supplemental bullshit. It's just that he wasn't used to it yet; his body rejected it immediately. He would lay there, bile-coated lips smiling up at whatever poor soul entered through the doors to check up on him and consequently, clean or _get_ someone to clean up his vomit. He got better at it, the whole-eating without violently retching what he'd stomached right back up-thing. He tries not to think about it too much now though.

“ Finn, ”  Poe starts. “ Kolonia said-”

“ I know what she said, ‘m just not that hungry.”

Finn’s finger gets tangled up in a patch and he has to pull it free. His stomach growls again in sabotage. Poe sighs and his hands fall from his hips. Finn knows he got a little bit defensive; he didn’t mean it. He doesn’t _feel_ hungry anyways. Maybe that’s the stress talking. Poe reaches out with a hand and taps it against Finn’s, coaxing him forward. A quiet “c’mere” just barely leaves his lips. Finn obliges and holds the beckoning hand, taking a single step closer. Their noses are almost touching. He reaches with his other hand to take Poe’s free one.

“ You’ve got _a lot_ going on right now, I get it,” Poe says. “ But you can tell me **anything** , you know that right?”

Finn nods, its slow but genuine.

“ ...tell you what,” Poe rubs his thumb against the back of Finn’s hand. “ We’re gonna head down to the mess hall and see what we can snag. That sound fair to you?”

“ Sounds fair,” Finn smiles.

“ And if at _any_ time you feel the overwhelming urge to beat me with a stick, I’m **more** than ready and willing.”

“ I’m counting on it.” Finn’s laughing again.

Poe grins.

 _There’s that stupid gap again_.

Finn may just have to take him up on that offer. Poe, amazingly, is quiet and just watches him laugh. With his whole face, like Finn always does. He then leads Finn out of the gym, releasing one of his hands. Finn’s beaming, eyes turning into little almond shaped slits. They take their leave, staffs littering the floor. They'll come back to clean them up later, surely. Poe continues to babble about something, whatever it is makes Finn snort. Something about his "superhuman" upper body strength and how he'd gone easy on Finn.

He always has to do _this_ , always the joker...

It feels nice to be able to roam. To have the choice to roam. To feel someone else's hands flush with his as they trail down the hallway. Finn takes a breath. He loves this feeling. He loves the stale air and the hum of the vents. And he loves the smell of whatever citrus fluid they always used to clean the floors for the night. The starlit stretching corridor begins to get shorter and shorter. There's no longer a spark in his veins but a  _flare_. The feeling spreads all throughout his weary body. It tells him he's **home**.

 _Finn feels warm_. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  


 

 


End file.
